Some people remember their first bike or their first baseball glove. Me? I remember my first…read morefavorite park.
Pioneer Park in Grass Valley will always hold a special place in my heart because it's the very first park I can remember absolutely loving. Back then, it felt enormous. There was green grass, a little creek, baseball games, families everywhere, and after church or a Little League game, it was the place to be.
But the real star of the show was that swing.
If you grew up in the '70s or '80s, you might remember it. It looked like something the safety inspectors would have a panic attack over today. It had a long bar across the top with swings on each end, and my dad would grab one side and start running. If he got enough speed, the kid on the outside would lift way up into the air. To me, it wasn't a swing it was a helicopter. I swear I thought I was about to take off for Sacramento.
I'm pretty sure they quit making those because someone, somewhere, decided children should survive their childhood. Fair enough... but man, they were fun.
As I've gotten older, I've realized something funny. Places don't actually shrink... your perspective changes. I went back recently, and Pioneer Park isn't some giant adventureland anymore. It's a beautiful little park tucked into the corner of Grass Valley. There happened to be a concert going on that evening, music filled the air, and for a moment I wasn't thinking about today I was thinking about being a little kid again.
A few years ago I even dropped my phone in the creek. I drove away before my car announced, "Phone disconnected." Nothing like fishing for your phone in the same creek where you used to play as a kid. Apparently, some traditions evolve.
Looking back, this park means even more to me because of who brought me there. My dad wasn't perfect. We all have complicated relationships with our parents. But when I think about parks, I don't remember my grandparents taking me. I don't remember my mom taking me. I remember my dad. Maybe he just wanted to get out of the house. Maybe he wanted to cool off. Maybe that's how he showed he cared. Whatever the reason, those afternoons became one of the happiest memories of my childhood.
That's the funny thing about places. Sometimes they aren't famous because they're the biggest or the fanciest. They're famous because they're where life happened.
So thank you, Pioneer Park, for giving a little kid his first taste of adventure, for the "helicopter" swing I'll never forget, and for reminding me that some of the best memories in life don't get bigger with time... they just become more meaningful.
Five stars. Not because it's the biggest park I've ever visited, but because it will always be the biggest one in my memories.